


Suited (The Three Things you Must Know to Live)

by shinychimera, Yeomanrand



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, BDSM, Bondage, Collars, Community: km_anthology, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Possessive Behavior, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-03
Updated: 2011-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinychimera/pseuds/shinychimera, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeomanrand/pseuds/Yeomanrand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When someone else foolishly tries to stake a claim on Jim, possessive and affectionate Bones helps him discover a few of the many things that a collar can mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suited (The Three Things you Must Know to Live)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: An attempt at drug-assisted non-con is strictly off-screen, but important to the plot. However, the story is mostly focused on the couple's affection in the face of the emotional aftermath. There are D/s elements here, small amounts of B/D and next to no S/m. (We don't spell it out in-story but we would like to assure you all that a safeword was negotiated between Jim and Bones long before now. ;) )
> 
> Starts out rough and devolves into cavity-inducing sweetness. We would like to observe that no relationship is perfect all the time — but some moments absolutely are.
> 
> For the 2011 [**km_anthology**](http://community.livejournal.com/km_anthology/) prompt: _Bondage: Collaring._

" _Doctor McCoy to the Transporter Room_."

Leonard’s half full coffee cup drops back to the desk, and he's up like a shot, snagging the kit from Chapel's hand and hitting a full sprint into the corridor at about the same time.

Two days. They've had two whole days where it looked like this "routine diplomatic mission" — their last stop before what Leonard had hoped would be a happy shore leave — might actually manage to be peaceful as advertised.

And with Spock on the comm, Leonard’s fool...whatever he is — the _Captain_ is probably the one needing his assistance. Spock didn’t use "urgent", or any of the rest of his very precise emergency vocabulary, but, well, Spock also doesn't usually request him by name when someone’s down. And this is the first time Leonard’s heard a growl — something like a hound trying to chase off a weanling pup — underlying Spock’s measured words.

Leonard rounds the corner into the Transporter Room and pulls up short.

"Heeeeeey, there he is," Jim croons from the transporter platform. Spock stands on the step below him, arms braced against Jim’s biceps, holding him in place as he struggles to free himself. Jim’s standing under his own power, hair disheveled but still in his godawful high-collared dress uniform, and Leonard sees no blood or other sign of injury. "C'mon, Spock, leggo. Need to jump those bones."

Leonard pulls his tricorder free, brows raised, eyes checking Jim over without mechanical assistance while he adjusts the scanner. Jim is flushed, and definitely aroused beneath the tight trousers; his irises are a thin rim of blue around a depthless dark well.

And now is _not_ the time to get all poetic.

"Bones, Bones, I have to fuck you _right now_..." Yeah. No poetry here.

"How long has he been like this?" Leonard asks Spock, doing his damnedest to mimic the First Officer’s calm and feeling the heat rise in his cheeks anyway. The tricorder’s reporting hormones all out of whack, strange chemicals in his bloodstream, and Jim lunges against Spock’s grip, maybe hoping surprise will help him overcome that patient Vulcan strength.

"Please, Bones, you don’t know how much I..."

" _How long_?" he snaps, interrupting Jim.

"Approximately seven point six minutes, to my knowledge," Spock answers over Jim’s throaty murmurs — filthy entreaties Leonard is intentionally not listening to. "When he was overdue to join me for beam-up, I searched and found him in this state, in the company of the Summer Princess. He appeared quite relieved to have her assault interrupted but as you can see he is still," and Leonard swears Spock is gritting his teeth, "not in control of his impulses. I brought back the goblet he had been drinking from."

He nods toward a glass vessel shattered on the transporter platform, a small chaotic indicator of just how "impulsive" Jim has been. Leonard sighs, digging a pair of gloves out of the kit on his hip and walking over to the wall-comm.

"Bones, come on, touch me, don’t leave me here, come touch me _now_ , dammit, please..."

"McCoy to Medical."

"Go ahead, Doctor," Chapel answers, calm and collected.

"Let me _go_ , damn you, that’s an order...all I need is to grab his ass and tear his clothes off and..."

"I need the cot. Send Johnston with it, will you?" Johnston’s got a deft touch and is one hell of a nurse, but she’s also got four centimeters and a weight class on Jim, and Leonard has a feeling he may need the extra hands. Under the circumstances, he’s not willing to risk sedating Jim.

He turns back to Spock, who’s looking just a little more grimly impassive than usual, and holds out the gloves and a sampling bag to him, not really wanting to consider what private things Spock might be picking up among Jim’s turbulent and unguarded emotions.

"How about you gather those shards, and let me take care of him?"

Spock lifts a slightly dubious eyebrow, but steps aside and takes the gloves as Jim stumbles off the platform and into Leonard’s arms, clutching at his body like a drowning man.

"You do get yourself into the damnedest situations," Leonard growls, turning his head so Jim’s lips find his cheek rather than his mouth. It’s easy enough to catch his arms, slide his hands down to Jim’s wrists and grip them firmly, removing Jim’s hands from their tight, intimate grip on his backside, and force him back a step. " _Stop_ , Captain."

Jim stares at him helplessly, and Leonard can see him struggling for control, but the way he licks his lower lip is straight out of their bedroom, and Jim can’t seem to stop himself from reaching for a better kiss.

Leonard heaves a resigned sigh, and Spock glances up from where he is collecting the broken glass. Leonard forks his fingers around both wrists, holding them at the small of his back while he smooths his other hand high on Jim’s nape, above the stiff collar of his dress uniform, directing his searching mouth against Leonard’s neck. He can’t risk kissing Jim before they understand what was in the goblet, but giving Jim skin-on-skin contact appears to ease some of his frenzy — even if he _is_ grinding his bulging erection against Leonard’s hip.

He bites his lip against a hormonal rush of his own, keeping an eye on the door, knowing Johnston isn’t really taking as long as she seems to be. The primary transporter tech clears his throat almost silently, frowning with unnecessary concentration at his board, while his co-worker gives Leonard a sympathetic grimace.

It’s not that the relationship between he and Jim is any kind of secret amongst the crew, but Leonard and Jim agreed long ago that it was best if they were scrupulously professional on duty. And regardless of what the crew does or doesn’t know about their relationship, the nitty-gritty of what the two of them do or don’t get up to after hours is none of their damn business. Jim’s mouth is hard on his neck, but even drugged Leonard knows he won’t want to make a pageant of what’s private between them.

The moment Johnston and the cot appear, he gently backs Jim toward her. His staff might not be mind readers, but Johnston’s right there with him and between the two of them they fight Jim down onto his back, and have him strapped down in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.

"No, no, no, noooo.... Bones!" Jim pulls against the restraints, still trying to arch up towards Leonard where he bends over the cot. Leonard shakes his head and sets his hand atop Jim’s, ignoring the irritated chirp the cot’s dumb sensors make at having to sort two sets of biosigns. He glances over to Spock.

"Let me know when the lab figures those out," Leonard says, nodding at the bag in Spock’s hand. "I’ll keep you up-to-date on his status."

He sweeps his thumb over the backs of Jim’s fingers and gives Johnston a nod, and he doesn’t give Spock another thought as they rush Jim down to Sickbay.

Chapel has already set up one of the isolation rooms; Leonard doesn’t think they’ll need to go quite that far but he gives her a grateful nod for the privacy anyway. He and Johnston are both ready for Jim’s sudden surge when they undo the strap around his chest, so he doesn’t get further than grabbing the hem of Leonard’s shirt and yanking upwards.

"‘Stead of undressing me, Jim, why don’t you get that monkey suit off and stretch out on the bed," Leonard suggests, stepping back to tug the rucked-up fabric down, surprised his voice comes out any sort of level.

"Yes, bed, _now_ ," Jim says, nodding enthusiastically, eyes desperate and dilated; he grabs the crawling-gilt placket at his sternum and manages to yank the top four buttons open at once, exposing a white undershirt soaked with musky sweat, and a pale blue but oddly fleshy-looking ribbon snug around his throat.

"Do not touch that," Leonard says to his nurses. Jim struggles with the remaining buttons down his stomach, and Johnston steps forward to assist him. "Chapel, get me some readings. Jim—what’s around your neck?"

"C-collar..." He looks up, shaking his head, shadows of anguish in his eyes even as he pants as if in the midst of passion.

"She—" Jim's beseeching fingers stretch toward Leonard.

"She was an over-entitled fire-eater with no respect for personal boundaries," Leonard snarls, when he can’t continue. He takes Jim’s hand and holds on as Johnston finishes stripping the jacket off and then, at Leonard’s nod, his pants as well.

"Help me, Bones, fuck me, mark me, please, I need," he begs, straining to keep his voice down to a whisper, until Leonard lays quelling fingers on his larynx, above the soft strip of blue clinging to his skin. Jim moans, gripping Leonard’s wrist until Johnston guides Jim onto the biobed and gently pulls his hands down into the bed’s restraints.

Leonard strokes Jim's cheek, then frowns up at the monitors when the biobed echoes the cot’s irritated ping; the carefully designed beds don’t _get_ confused by the doctor’s life signs.

"Monitor—do not display James T. Kirk vitals." The readouts drop towards—but not all the way to—their null settings, and Chapel’s looking up at him worriedly as well.

"Doctor, it _is_ alive, it’s some kind of parasite and—look." She extends the tricorder’s display, focused on Jim’s throat.

Leonard frowns over the readings, understanding why she isn’t just summarizing them for him. He has a momentary and very unpleasant flashback to the Centauri slug in Pike’s brain, but this parasite’s tendrils are only invading Jim’s blood vessels, not his nervous system. Still, they’re pumping an insane load of hormones and enzymes into his bloodstream, and he’s heaving against restraints that Leonard knows all too well are only adding to Jim's fever.

He takes the tricorder from Chapel, and Jim whimpers, twitching bound arms toward him, sending a sharp pang through Leonard’s chest. He sends Johnston for a surgical kit while he readjusts the settings to get a better lock on the parasite’s physiology.

"Booones...."

"Workin’ on it, Jim."

From the looks of things, he should be able to apply a local anesthetic to the creature, knock it out — it isn’t that different from a class of Earth flatworms — without pushing the drug through to Jim’s already overwhelmed metabolism. But he’ll bet they’re still going to have to fight to extract the damn thing, because it would just be too goddamned easy if the tendrils retract when the creature’s unconscious.

"I belong to _you_..." Jim pleads.

He sets his hand on Jim’s flushed forehead. "And bring me 5 milligrams of lidocaine!"

He accepts the hypo Chapel extends toward him just as Johnston returns.

"Mister Krycek reports that the drink was a strong intoxicant along the lines of Romulan Ale, but otherwise unremarkable — it shouldn’t be causing these...effects," Johnston says, setting down the padd report, then opening up the kit and laying out forceps and tweezers. Leonard thinks she’s blushing more about the brief hesitation in her professional demeanor than the captain’s wanton writhing, or the sizable erection his regulation underwear is doing nothing to hide, but in this situation it’s tough to say. He shunts aside the urge to send the two of them away and fix Jim up in private.

"Get him drunk, lower his guard, then slap this thing on him..." he mutters, carefully sinking the hypo into the would-be collar. He watches the creature’s hummingbird-fast heartbeat on the monitor, trusting Chapel to tell him if the drug’s passing through to Jim.

In seconds, the parasite goes inert. Leonard follows the tricorder readings to find its "head", and peels upwards with careful fingers. The surface of its skin is surprisingly soft, like wet velvet. Jim squeezes his eyes closed, fists curling within the restraints, while they work with painstaking care to extract the tendrils one by one, leaving nothing behind except an irregular red imprint circling Jim’s throat.

Leonard accepts the dermal regen from Johnston and applies it to the injured skin, biting the inside of his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood. But this is most definitely not the time or the place to give in to the savage desire to replace the mark the _princess_ made on Jim with his own; stripping hers away will have to be enough. He can’t help glancing up at Jim while he works, aware that the crease between Jim’s brows is more about emotional distress than any physical misery.

But he can’t give Jim the kind of reassurance he truly needs just yet. Not here, not with an audience.

He hands the regen back to Johnston and asks her to take the curled-up parasite in its container over to Sciences, then instructs the bed to redisplay Jim’s vitals, and glances over to Chapel to get an update on all the crap in his system. He carefully selects a medication to dull the overwhelming sex drive, waits for Jim’s metabolism to settle into a new equilibrium, then starts bringing his other hormone levels back to normal one by one. Jim certainly knows he can’t pretend to be asleep, not with the biobed monitors looking directly at his brainwaves, but his eyes remain closed and he lies very still anyway.

" _Bridge to Sickbay. Status report, Doctor McCoy?_ "

Leonard sets his hand on Jim’s cheek. Jim doesn’t open his eyes, just pulls his face away from the touch, and Leonard frowns.

"Captain’s stable, Commander," he answers, without looking at the intercom, attention firmly on Jim’s face, seeking signs of what he might have missed.

"Acknowledged. The Federation Ambassador requests your presence in the conference room — your report on this assault would be valuable in our meeting with the Queen."

Leonard notes Spock’s always-careful wording; he isn’t ordering Leonard to join them, giving him the leeway to send someone in his place. But the Ambassador has asked, and Leonard hasn’t forgotten his briefing: his status as CMO means his testimony — his mere presence — will carry more weight with these people. Though he’s going to have to put a curb bit on the anger surging under his skin, to be sure he makes the clearest case possible.

He doesn’t want to leave Jim’s side. But they both understand the requirements of duty, and Jim needs to rest, give his body a chance to recover from the variety of substances it’s been forced to struggle with.

"You going to be okay here until I get back?"

Jim nods, and Leonard sighs and steps away. "On my way, Commander."

"Wait," Jim says, face turning back towards Leonard, fingers twitching in the restraints. "Can I go back to my quarters?"

Leonard eyes the monitors for a moment; the readings are settled enough to satisfy him, and he knows Jim will be much happier and far more likely to get some proper rest out of Medical.

"I’ll tell Chapel to let you go in half an hour, if your readings are still stable — but _only_ if you go straight there and into bed, you hear me?"

"I will," he says, weary and meek.

"I’ll come find you as soon as we’re done," Leonard says, hesitating with the urge to give Jim a kiss before he turns on his heel, mentally rehearsing exactly what he’s _not_ going to let himself say to the Queen.  


  


⥊  


For once, Spock’s cool logic helps Leonard keep his temper — he explains to the Queen exactly how unacceptable her daughter’s style of "flirtation" will be to Federation citizens, no matter how common or even prestigious parasite-assisted rape might be in their culture. The man’s cadences are as tightly controlled as ever, but Leonard doesn’t think anyone in the room doubts Spock's genuine ire. Something about the forced public display of Jim’s violent desire is punching those secretive Vulcan buttons hard.

Unfortunately, with Spock doing the bulk of the talking, Leonard has time to worry about Jim. He runs the frantic scene in Sickbay through his head, and belatedly realizes that Jim had stopped struggling for Leonard’s attention _not_ when they’d sedated the damn worm, but when Leonard had failed to answer his plea for reassurance.

_I belong to_ you.

Once again, he’s reminded that things that go without saying often need to be said; he’d thought his touch on Jim’s forehead would have been enough to reassure him in the busy chaos of the moment. Leonard has always been a master at compartmentalizing — Jim versus the Captain, Leonard versus Doctor McCoy — but emotions don’t always work that way, and the two of them have made private promises to each other. Leonard knows better than most how many broken promises Jim’s had to endure, and how determined he is about not betraying his promises to others.

When the tense negotiations have finished, and he’s run by his quarters to change clothes and pick up a few things, he lets himself into Jim’s. He heads straight through the dark entry toward the light in the bedroom. What he finds stops him cold in the doorway, guilt squeezing his guts again.

Jim is asleep — naked, slumped against the foot of the bed, waiting on his knees on his cushion. His cheek rests on the coverlet, mouth slightly agape, brows pinched. Leonard sighs, torn between exasperation and affection, and sets his satchel down on the chest of drawers. He takes a moment to reassure himself with a quick tricorder scan: chemistry back to normal, body reasonably rested. He puts the machine down and crouches next to Jim, setting a light hand between his shoulder blades and leaning in to give his temple a soft kiss.

Jim starts awake and blinks up at Leonard, who resists his natural urge to draw Jim into his arms, hold him tight; that’s not who Jim wants him to be right now.

"This is _not_ the condition I gave you, when I said Nurse Chapel could release you from Medical," he says, solemn and stern.

Jim pushes himself upright on his knees, wiping a thin film of drool from under his lip. His eyes are cloudy, apprehensive, but Leonard can see him reacting to the firm tone, assuming the proper position with an air of relief — Jim knows where he stands, within these rules.

"I can think of about fifty things I’d like to do with you, only none of them would do you a lick of good until we get your head on right," Leonard observes, standing up and reaching into the bag he’d set on the chest. "Too damn stubborn by half."

[](http://www.joannalark.com/store/products/BDSM-Posture-Collar-With-Chin-Support.html#.UtWmu56-068)He picks the posture collar easily out of the small collection, holds it in his hands as if weighing it against the sins Jim’s holding against himself. He watches closely; Jim’s gaze drops immediately to the device, and he blinks and swallows, a light flush spreading across his face and neck. The rigid collar adorned with buckles and rings is not something Leonard brings into play often — Jim hates the feel of the heavy leather with the same intensity he craves the correction it gives. But Leonard has spent the last two frustrating hours remembering the undeserved guilt he’d seen in those blue eyes in Sickbay, and finding Jim asleep on his knees said he’d been right to anticipate Jim feeling the need to do penance before he can find peace over the day’s doings.

Leonard moves back over and sits down on the edge of the bed. Jim’s chin dips further.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs.

"You’re sorry, or you’re hoping an apology will get you out of the collar?"

Knowing Jim’s not got a thing to apologize for makes no nevermind — it’s not what’s in Leonard’s head, or even Jim’s practical conscious mind that’s important. Experience has taught them both that Jim finds it almost impossibly hard to face his emotions head on — they do talk, but roleplay helps pull things out in the open, where Jim can wrestle with them on a physical level first.

Jim remains silent, hypnotized by Leonard’s fingers slowly unfastening each buckle at the back of the collar.

"You were right, on that biobed," Leonard says.

"I belong to you," Jim murmurs.

"Yes. You do. And nothing’s going to change that. Ever. Now, lift your chin."

Jim’s eyes close and he tilts his face up obediently.

"Good boy." No matter how much he’d like to see what’s going on in those baby blues, Leonard’s not going to ask Jim to look at him if he’s not ready.

Leonard leans forward, sliding the collar around Jim’s neck; he makes quick work of fastening it and draws his fingers tenderly along Jim’s cheek once it’s secured. He’s breathtaking this way: fitted leather pressing down against the notch of his collarbones and up against his jaw, head held high and immobile, mouth and eyelids soft and vulnerable, all his attention focused on Leonard‘s voice.

"You _are_ mine. And if I needed to, I’d snap a leash on that thing and lead you through the ship to make the point."

Jim’s lips quiver, smothering an instinctive protest, but Leonard’s sure his pulse is kicking into overdrive at the thought. It’s a boundary he wouldn’t cross, not really, but Jim needs to know how serious, how _unashamed_ , he is.

He pushes off the bed, goes back over to his satchel and picks up a long, flat wooden box. A gift; one he’d been figuring on giving Jim during shore leave. Maybe. But he can’t afford trepidation at this moment so he squashes the feeling flat and turns back toward Jim.

"Put your hands behind your back, palms out."

Jim pulls his shoulders back, rolling them a bit against the stiff posture the collar forces on him so that he can pull his hands together, index fingers almost touching. Leonard sets the box in his fingers, waits until his thumbs clamp down on the polished cedar before letting go.

"Do not drop that." The box isn’t exactly light, and Jim’s grip is awkward; his shoulders are going to ache within minutes, if they don’t already. But he’ll hold on for as long as he can, because Leonard told him to.

Leonard sits on the bed and folds his arms, pride and pain and guilt — and other feelings he refuses to put a name to — settling into his bones, roughening his voice.

"That’s my boy."

Schooling himself to a patience he doesn’t feel, Leonard watches the subtle play of Jim’s expressions on a face that only looks passive on the surface: the minute twitching of eyelids, forehead, the creases of the mouth, tiny facial muscles that tense and slack as Jim struggles to outwait him. Leonard knows he wants physical, external stimuli, is taxed as much by the silence and the waiting as he is by the mild physical strain, but Jim has to accept that there’s no opponent here but his own uncertainty about Leonard’s state of mind.

A faint sheen of sweat has appeared on Jim’s brow by the time he finally opens his agate-blue eyes, gazing up at Leonard from his knees, the black collar stark against his pale skin.

Leonard leans forward with elbows on knees, speaks hard and clear.

"You belonging to me hasn’t ever been about keeping you to myself. I told you way back when, you can pursue your pleasures where you please, so long as you ask me."

Jim’s eyes crinkle worriedly, lower lids coming up.

"Seems to me we need some clarifyin’ on that. Up to now, you’ve pursued for both of us, on shore leave where we both know what you’re up to and my permission’s easy to come by. But what I hadn’t thought to let you know is I can deal with the unexpected, if you’re in a situation where you _can’t_ ask me first."

He watches Jim absorb the implications. And he monitors the small shifts of Jim’s muscles across his biceps, shoulders and chest: laboring to balance his training to stay still with the need to hold onto the heavy box despite his fatigue.

"But tell me true, Jim, were you flashing that sweet smile at this girl tryin’ to score points for some Federation ‘somebody’ who thinks of us as nothing more than a glorified taxi service?"

The thick leather braced under his chin turns Jim’s swallow into a nervous shifting of the jaw, stops him from answering with a silent shake of his head. His voice is a thin croak. "No... no, sir — I was just being polite."

Leonard reaches out and hooks his fingers through the D-ring on the front of the collar, pulling Jim hard toward him, trying to rattle loose the words Jim needs to say. "You’re a shit liar, Jim Kirk, anybody ever tell you that?"

Jim inhales sharply. "I swear, Bones....sir!... She was pretty, she was flirting, but I didn’t _want_ her, she said she had questions, I was going to answer them nicely and turn her over to the ambassador and come _home_..."

Leonard lifts the ring higher, increasing the pressure on Jim’s throat and chin, pulling his torso up even straighter.

"I know you didn’t want her — if you had, you would have commed me and she..." Leonard can’t stop his snarl, doesn’t even really try. "She still probably would have wrapped that _thing_ around your neck."

Jim’s chest heaves, face twisting in the misery slipping loose only because Leonard’s being hard on him.

"I didn’t want her to put a collar on me, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what she was going to do, I couldn’t even reach up to grab it before...."

"Before it was pumping your system so full of hormones you couldn’t see straight, let alone think with anything but your dick." Leonard’s voice is hard as nails but he lets go of the collar and sets a hand on Jim’s cheekbone.

"She was all over me and I couldn’t think...I know I kissed her, I think I groped her, but I wanted _you_..."

The desperate hurt in Jim's voice nearly breaks Leonard’s heart. He brushes his lips lightly over Jim's — not enough for either of them, never enough — and then cups Jim’s cheeks in both hands and holds his gaze.

"I believe you."

Jim exhales, shakily.

"I’ve got no reason to doubt. You say you didn’t want her _or_ her collar, and I believe you. You certainly didn’t _ask_ to be drugged and mauled. The trespasses here are all hers, Jim." He slides his hands down, rubs at the trapezius muscles quivering beneath the edges of the collar. "And you are so good, so strong, answering my questions when it’s hard for you, and holding onto that box of mine. Now, stand up."

Jim shifts his weight from knee to knee on the cushion, visibly taking a firmer hold on the box before pulling a foot up under him. Leonard reaches out to help, half-lifting him to his feet, and lets Jim rest against his chest for a moment, absorbing his warmth.

"Thank you," Leonard says, stroking a hand up his back between his arms. "I believe you, Jim. And just in case that’s not enough, I forgive you, too."

Leonard trades off light kisses and firm caresses, rousing Jim’s skin and muscles, stimulating his nipples. His eyelids drop halfway as he gives himself over to sensation, hardening against Leonard’s thigh, body undulating under his touch. Leonard drinks in his warmth and his reactions, relieved as Jim is to reach the point where he can give in to his desire to touch and hold. He takes his time stoking Jim’s hunger before tracing the side of his finger up Jim’s inner thigh until his thumb brushes his balls.

"Love this, darlin’," Leonard lets his drawl roughen his voice, "watchin’ you come undone for me."

Jim pants in and out, shaky, falling mindlessly into his own desire, and Leonard watches closely. He’s ready for the moment Jim’s eyes widen, when that very mindlessness starts to alarm him.

"Knowin’ I set this desire in your bones, that it’s mine, that you’re mine, no matter where you are or who you’re with."

He shifts backward, just a little, letting Jim’s erection slide along the fabric of his trousers; too much sensation from the look on Jim’s face, but not quite enough by the way his hips buck against Leonard. Jim’s cock is hot and heavy when Leonard takes it in his hand, squeezes and strokes from base to tip, just once.

"Knowin’ no matter who takes you apart, I’m the one you trust to put you back together."

He slides his other hand up along Jim’s side and neck, scooping around to grip the back of the collar; leans in to take Jim’s mouth.

Jim returns the kiss as best he can, eager but restrained by the rim of padded leather propping up his jaw. Leonard strokes his cock roughly again, and lets his fingers curl off the collar into his hair; he feels Jim’s biceps tense against him with the urge to touch and hold in return, but he doesn’t let the box fall. Leonard nips his lower lip and smiles, then steps back where he can reach into the satchel.

Jim bites back a whimper at the distance, but his parted lips, the hungry flick of his tongue over them, convey his yearning just fine. Leonard strips; he never makes much of a show of undressing, and still somehow Jim’s restless gaze says he can’t decide where he wants to look.

He blinks when Leonard’s hand comes out of the bag with nothing but lube.

Leonard smirks a bit, slicking up his hands; always good to keep Jim guessing. But, ultimately, he doesn’t want tonight to be about exotic toys, or punishment, or even endurance. The hard collar will ease the memory of her soft one, and Jim’s grip on the box is a non-verbal way for him to demonstrate the devotion Leonard never doubted, the commitment he wants Jim to know he shares.

Jim’s erection gets firmer, and he licks his lips. Leonard steps close, teases a fingertip down his belly, almost overpowered by the yearning that aches equally in his heart and groin. Then he takes hold of Jim again, stroking the lubrication up and down before pressing his own cock alongside, gripping them together in his long fingers. He slides his free hand around to settle on Jim’s ass, squeezing, and catches Jim’s involuntary moan in his mouth.

He starts slow and hard, using tight friction to push Jim out of his right mind, watching his guileless eyes with possessive intensity. Leonard doesn’t try to conceal his own arousal and desire, pants and groans right along with Jim and the hard strokes of his hand.

"You’re going to let me take you apart, Jim, take you apart and put you back together again."

Jim’s body cants toward him; Leonard knows Jim would like to have his mouth and hands all over Leonard’s chest and neck but the thick collar prevents him from dipping his chin, and his hands are already full.

Leonard loosens his grip in gradual stages; building up the speed of his strokes so their cocks slide wetly against each other. That same intentionally unnamed ache pounds along with Leonard’s heartbeat in his chest, while he watches the twitch and flow of expressions across Jim’s face.

It’s never easy for Jim to give himself over completely. But Leonard startles an involuntary cry from him, and the sound of his own voice breaks him open — his lips part above the sleek black shine of the collar, his eyes fall closed, his head would be lolling back if it could.

He’s beautiful when his pinched eyes and brows speak of both passion and resistance, but Leonard loves these moments when Jim lets go, when he remembers that he can place his trust and his tightly guarded emotions and his very life in Leonard’s hands...it happens before they reach their climax this time, and Leonard’s heart pounds, watching him surrender. He slides his free hand from Jim’s ass, clasping the flat box between Jim’s clutching hands as the emotional release wrenches raw noises from his throat.

Leonard leans his forehead against Jim’s, braces him between the enclosing arm and the hand stroking their cocks hard and fast. Their eyes lock, their breathing hot on each other’s lips, and Leonard fights to hold himself back so that they can come together.

"Come on, Jim. I’ve got you. Always."

He sees Jim’s climax coming in the creases in his forehead, hears it in the hitch of his breathing and drops his cheek against Jim’s, mouthing sloppy kisses and promises along the edge of skin and collar.

Jim shudders and shakes, then goes rigid, hips jerking fractionally but everything else locked tight, as if he needs every muscle in his body to keep that box from falling to the floor.

"S’all right, darlin’ boy. You can let go." The words come out on a harsh groan.

And like that, Jim comes undone. His fingers unclench and his body spasms, and Leonard presses his hand tightly against the cedarwood box, digging the hard edges into the muscles of Jim’s back.

Leonard manages to guide their post-orgasmic slump onto the bed, easing Jim down so the collar doesn’t hurt him. He takes the box, sets it on the mattress, and pulls Jim against him, their legs tangled together and his palm curled tenderly around the back of Jim’s head.

⥊

They lie quiet for a while. Leonard finally reaches up to undo the buckles, letting his fingers rumple the short hairs at the nape of Jim’s neck. Once he’s got the restrictive leather off, he tosses the collar in the direction of his satchel and settles Jim’s head more comfortably on his shoulder.

Jim sighs, wrung out and relaxed, body lying heavy against Leonard’s side.

"Not falling to sleep on me?" he asks, amused — but not ready to let Jim drift off again just yet. He kisses the crown of Jim’s head. "Shift over so I can get a towel."

Jim rolls onto his back, arm flopping heavily against the coverlet, and Leonard slides off the bed. He looks into the mirror, takes a steadying breath, then dampens a towel, and is still wiping off his own stomach when he comes back to the bedroom.

Jim’s moved up onto the pillow, eyes that are warmer and clearer fixed on Leonard’s every move. Leonard gives him a faint smile before settling cross-legged on the bed next to him; he wipes Jim down and tosses the towel to the floor. He’s reassured to see the spark of humor returning to his eyes when Jim reciprocates his smile.

"Welcome back, sunny," Leonard says, trying not to let the hollow feeling just below his sternum affect the warmth in his voice.

He reaches over to pick the box up off the bed; Jim’s eyes follow his movement, intense curiosity warring with quiet patience. Leonard finds his throat tightening more — Jim _has_ learned to trust in Leonard’s plans; his reasons, his timing, the _care_ he puts into every choice he makes. But, for once, he can’t predict Jim’s response. He catches himself before he can bite his own lip.

"Are you okay, Bones?"

"Not sure. Kind of —" he finally manages, hunting for vocabulary that’s never come easy to him. "You —" He tucks the hand holding the box up against his chest. "You always give me so much."

Jim shakes his head, a little incredulous laugh huffing through his bright smile. "I give _you_? Bones, you — I couldn’t do any of this without you."

His langorous wave encompasses the whole of the _Enterprise_ , and Leonard’s eyebrows lift. Jim would still be Jim, would still be Captain Kirk, no matter where he is or who he’s with. But Leonard can’t deny that they’d both be weaker, crankier, more lonely and isolated without their bantering friendship, and this deeper, stranger thing they’ve built in the center of their private lives.

Leonard’s lips tighten; he leans forward, strokes his fingers in a light "V" over the knobs of his collarbones. The well-fitted collar always leaves a curved pink line at the base of Jim’s neck, something Leonard can’t help savoring before it fades away.

"There’s a knife cuts both ways, darlin’," he says, gruffly.

Jim’s gaze softens, and he reaches up to brush reassuring fingertips along Leonard’s jaw, then trails them downwards to rest on the upper edge of the flat wooden case.

"Tell me what’s in the box," he says quietly, taking charge again in the face of Leonard’s uncertainty.

"Somethin’ I picked up at the last Starbase. Been waiting for the right moment."

He opens the box, steady hands belying his inner turmoil, and looks down at the rich, rose-gold necklet laying upon midnight velvet. Fine enough to be mistaken for a simple necklace, austere enough to please Jim’s ascetic eye, the collar is fashioned of flat links that come to a low chevron point made to fit the curve of Jim’s throat.

"If you want it," he starts, shakily, "it’s got a..."

Jim’s fingers settle reverently upon the gold.

Leonard swallows, shuts up, and _makes_ himself look at Jim’s face.

His eyes are wide and serious, something fragile and frightened in his expression, and for a heartbeat Leonard’s sick with the certainty he’s chosen exactly the _wrong_ moment, that Jim isn’t ready for this, that he maybe never will be...

Jim muscles himself to a sitting position, takes Leonard’s face in his hands, and kisses him with every iota of feeling in his body. Leonard sets the box down on his lap and kisses back with everything _he’s_ got, arms sliding around Jim’s shoulders.

"Jim..."

"I want. I _want_. Yes."

Speechless at Jim’s ferocity, Leonard kisses him again.

"Tell me what it means," Jim says. "To you."

Leonard blinks and bites his lip, then forces himself to take a deep, uneven breath, eyes locked on Jim’s.

"Commitment — belonging to each other. _Not_ swearin’ off all others, not unless you want; I meant what I said about liking knowing you’re mine no matter who you’re with."

He’s sweating, just a little, and can feel the flush painting color high on his cheeks.

"What...what does it mean to you, Jim?"

"That you’ll always be here for me." Jim runs his fingers up into Leonard’s hair, in his rough, grasping way that always makes Leonard’s nerves tingle, then touches their foreheads together. "That I’ll always be here for you."

"Yeah," he agrees, softly, breathless with relief and joy, all tangled around the deep feeling he can’t name, not even for Jim. "That's the shape of it."

He takes the collar out of its box, undoes its clasp, and settles it around Jim's neck.

"To being here for each other," he says, pressing his thumb and forefinger together over the metal, sealing the collar and the promise with his touch. Jim’s eyes shine blindingly blue, and the intensity Leonard sees in them steals the rest of his air: the affection, the _faith_ that Jim always has in him, raised now to some impossible degree.

He has to drop his gaze. The rosy metal is perfectly suited to Jim's peachy complexion, as he'd figured it should be. Leonard traces over the already-warming gold, flat over Jim's shoulders along the line of his neck, where it will stay discreetly below the collar of his uniform; his fingers settle on the tip of the chevron that just kisses the hollow of Jim's throat.

"Looks good on you, darlin’. How’s it feel?"

"Like it belongs there." He rests his fingertips on top of Leonard’s.

Leonard huffs a soft laugh and looks back up into Jim’s eyes, crinkled by his happy smile. So many facets to this man, precious all, some public and some especially dear because he shares them only with Leonard.

"Thank you," he says, reaching up to cup Jim’s cheek. He tilts his head, as much curiosity in the gesture as nuzzling into the touch, and Leonard smiles. "For being mine — my Captain, my sweet, sunny boy, my _Jim_."

**Author's Note:**

>  _There are three things which if one does not know, one cannot live long in the world: what is too much for one, what is too little for one, and what is just right for one._ ~ Swahili Proverb


End file.
